Then, below the fold on page three: AUTHORITIES RESPOND TO DEATH AT LOCAL CAMPGROUND
She read it once. Blinked.
She read it again. Blinked. Then a third time.
The article was four paragraphs. A deceased man, white male, estimated forty to fifty years of age, was found by local teenagers in a cabin at the campground along Black Lake on Route 9 East. No identification on the body. Authorities had been unable to reach anyone with oversight of the property to confirm whether the cabin had been rented or the man had been squatting. The campground's ownership was apparently unclear following the recent death of its previous operator. The teenagers had discovered the body after noticing the cabin door standing open. A preliminary assessment suggested the death may have been the result of a medical event. The investigation was ongoing.
What the articledidn’tsay was far more interesting than what it had. There was no mention of a phone, a wallet, personal items, or a vehicle.
Morgan set the paper on the table and looked at it, her fingers flexing subconsciously as each bit of information appeared like a jigsaw puzzle piece in her head—floating around but not lining up to create a picture that made sense.
This was what she did. This was exactly the kind of thing she excelled at.
But she was on administrative leave. She had no jurisdiction here, no authority, and no professional standing that would give her a legitimate reason to ask questions about a dead man in Pine Ridge, Pennsylvania. She was a guest in her grandfather's house and was supposed to be keeping her head down and staying out of trouble.
She picked the paper back up.
A man died of a medical event—no mention of what that medical event might be—in a cabin he shouldn’t have been in.
She sat back, considering the theoretical cause of death. Did the victim have a medical condition? Had he gone there to die in solitude? If so, why was there nothing to identify him?
A robbery gone wrong, perhaps? With no indication of where he'd come from or what he'd been doing in an off-season cabin at a campground that apparently had no functioning management, it was impossible to hazard a guess.
Her brain itched, the way it did when she encountered something that didn’t make sense.
She folded the paper and set it down.
It was absolutely, one hundred percent, none of her business.
Frank came in from the back porch and moved to the sink to wash his hands.
“Did you read about the body they found at the campground?” she asked.
“What about it?” he said.
“Doesn’t that seem off to you? A man is found dead, no obvious cause except a possible medical event, and nothing to identify him?”
“You'd know better than I would,” he said noncommittally, drying his hands. “You're the one with the training.”
“I'm on leave. And I have no jurisdiction here.”
“Hmm,” he hummed quietly. “Wouldn't be the first time the authorities called something a medical event because it was easier than trying to figure out what really happened.”
Morgan sat at the kitchen table and looked at the folded Ridge Courier, long after Frank moved into the living room.
The dog came and put his head on her knee. She scratched his ear without looking at him, her eyes still on the paper.
No phone. No vehicle. No identification. An off-season cabin at a campground nobody was running.
She was not investigating. She was simply a concerned citizen, asking the same questions any rational concerned citizen would be asking.
6
EVIDENCE AND QUESTIONS ONLY
PATRICK
The house was still litup when Patrick pulled in at a quarter past midnight. One of the perks of working the early shift meant he wasn’t expected to close.